The moment Kael pushed off the water, he realized something inside him had changed.
He had meant only to skim the surface with a burst of Vitae, the way any half-trained adept might sprint across a marsh. Instead, power flooded through his Channels like a river breaking winter ice. His body went light and fierce. He shot over the lake in a single bound, coat snapping behind him, clearing more than thirty feet before landing hard upon the muddy bank.
He staggered two steps, stunned.
Then a grin spread slowly across his face.
The strength surging through him still felt unreal. The Deepwater Heartstone pulsed warm inside his gut. Even after everything—the battle, the madness, the shame, the endless frenzy inside the skeletal war chariot—his Vitae still roared through him with terrifying abundance.
He turned and hurried inland until he found a patch of dry ground among the reeds. Carefully, almost guiltily, he lowered Lyra onto the earth.
She immediately folded her legs beneath herself and entered meditation, eyes closing as her breathing slowed. Pale strands of hair stirred against her cheeks in the evening wind while she guided weakened Vitae through damaged Channels.
Her injuries were severe. Kael could feel it even without special senses. Torn flesh. Drained essence. Spiritual depletion bordering collapse.
This recovery would not be quick.
So he sat beside her in silence.
And finally had time to think.
The day crashed through his mind in broken waves.
The Sevenfold Shroud.
The skeletal dragon.
The impossible battle.
Lyra beneath him inside the war chariot.
The sound she had made when his sanity vanished.
Kael buried his face in his hands.
For a while his thoughts swung wildly between exhilaration and disgust. One moment he remembered the feel of impossible power flooding through him and wanted to laugh aloud. The next, guilt twisted in his stomach so hard he felt sick.
The marsh around them stretched endlessly beneath the dying light.
Maybe this lake belonged to the greater Dread Mire. Maybe not. Kael did not know.
The water rolled in long slow ripples, green as polished emerald beneath the sunset. Thick walls of reeds spread in every direction until water and sky blurred together into a hazy sea of blue-green mist.
Waterbirds circled overhead.
A cool wind passed through the reeds with a soft whispering hiss.
Farther out, a cluster of wild ducks drifted from hiding and paddled lazily across the water together. A whole family. Fat little ducklings trailing behind the adults while the fading sun painted gold across the lake.
Kael watched them too long.
Something hollow opened quietly inside his chest.
Without warning he remembered Vane's Summit.
His Master's eyes.
Auryn's sharp tongue.
Sylva's gentle smile.
Mira humming while tending the stove.
Zaeli chasing chickens through the courtyard.
Selene pretending not to stare at him whenever she thought nobody noticed.
The mountain winds.
The old stone paths.
The sound of laughter echoing through the halls.
He sat motionless.
Gods, he missed them.
Not in the careless way he used to joke about. Not with his usual swagger and empty boasting.
This hurt.
Everything had slipped farther and farther away from him until it almost felt like another life entirely.
Why had things become like this?
Kael stared across the water for a long time without moving.
The sun slowly sank.
Cold crept over the lake.
The water shimmered beneath crimson dusk, beautiful enough to seem unreal.
Then the wind shifted.
Kael suddenly shivered.
His thoughts snapped back to Lyra.
He turned quickly toward her.
She remained seated in meditation, utterly still. Torn scraps of clothing fluttered against her body in the breeze, barely covering smooth pale skin that gleamed softly in the fading light. Her shoulders were exposed. Her thighs. The curve of one breast where ruined fabric hung loose after everything that had happened earlier.
Kael immediately frowned.
"When the sun fully sets, this place is going to freeze," he muttered.
Her Vitae reserves were wrecked. Even if she could still circulate energy, she would not withstand cold easily in this condition.
Then he looked down at himself.
His own clothes were barely more than rags. Half-torn. Burned. Stained. The damage came mostly from his own loss of control earlier.
His face heated instantly.
"You damned idiot," he muttered at himself.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and glanced around.
"There's got to be something nearby…"
Then he noticed gray shapes in the distance beyond the reeds.
Buildings.
Kael's eyes lit up.
Without hesitation he used ground-sprinting and dashed across the marsh.
As he drew closer, excitement rose inside him.
A few crude wooden houses stood near the waterline, raised slightly above the mud on short stilts. Fishing huts, most likely.
"Maybe I can find something for Shreve Lyra…"
He crossed the crooked fence and hurried toward the nearest house.
No voices.
No smoke.
No dogs barking.
The door hung partly open.
"Hello?" Kael called.
Nothing answered.
He shouted again several times before finally pushing the door inward.
The interior looked messy but abandoned.
Nobody remained inside.
Kael backed out and checked the other buildings.
Same thing.
Then realization struck him.
"The skeleton invasion…"
Of course.
The people here must have fled the Dread Mire entirely.
Once that thought settled in his mind, Kael immediately stopped feeling guilty.
"Well," he muttered, "they're not using any of this right now."
He began rummaging through boxes and cupboards without shame.
After several minutes he found a few sets of old clothes. Rough homespun fabric. Cheap and worn, but clean enough.
Kael laughed happily.
He pulled on a mostly intact shirt and trousers that fit him reasonably well. Then he gathered a set of women's clothing into his arms and sprinted back through the reeds toward the lakeshore.
Lyra still sat unmoving where he had left her.
Kael approached carefully so he would not disturb her concentration.
Very gently, he draped the clothes across her shoulders.
Night had fully descended by then.
Out upon the dark lake, the skeletal dragon rested silently in the water.
Because of its immense size, much of its enormous spine and ribcage remained above the surface. From afar it resembled a jagged black mountain rising from the lake itself.
Lonely.
The sight stirred something unexpectedly sad inside Kael.
He stared at the creature for a while before sighing softly.
"Dragon," he murmured, "you've got to be lonely too."
The beast did not move.
"We're probably alike in that way."
Kael sat upon a nearby stone.
The night wind sighed through the reeds around him.
After a while his thoughts began wandering again.
Then suddenly his expression changed.
"Oh, hell."
A dreadful realization struck him.
"This thing's way too big."
He stared at the skeletal dragon with growing horror.
"Simeon's Wardian Satchel definitely can't hold something that enormous. If you keep following behind me everywhere looking like that, what woman is ever going to come near me again?"
The more he imagined it, the worse it became.
A gigantic undead dragon lumbering after him through every city and village in the empire.
Women screaming.
Guards panicking.
Children fainting.
Kael groaned and rubbed his temples.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and addressed the dragon again.
"Ahem. Brother Dragon… you're magnificent and all, but maybe this arrangement isn't very practical…"
The dragon remained still beneath the moonlight.
"So perhaps we should part ways here? Go our separate roads? If fate wills it, we'll meet again someday over a jug of bad liquor…"
Still nothing.
The huge creature simply rested alone in the black water.
And somehow that made Kael feel even guiltier.
"It saved my life," he muttered. "More than once."
Worse still, the Deepwater Heartstone remained inside his own body. If he abandoned the dragon now, how would he ever return the thing?
Kael groaned.
"This is a disaster…"
Then suddenly a thought flashed through his mind.
Stories about dragons.
Ancient tales.
A dragon could swell large enough to swallow clouds or shrink small enough to hide within a blade of grass.
Kael straightened slowly.
"…Can you transform?"
He stared at the skeletal dragon intently.
"If you can shrink yourself, do it."
The instant the thought formed in his mind, the dragon reacted.
Its colossal body suddenly contracted.
Water exploded outward in crashing waves as the entire lake churned violently. Bone scraped against bone with deep thunderous cracking sounds.
Kael's jaw dropped.
The dragon shrank to nearly half its previous size in moments.
"Again!" Kael shouted.
The creature obeyed immediately.
Its body compressed further and further until it became no larger than an ordinary river crocodile.
Kael burst into delighted laughter.
"No, smaller! Keep going!"
The skeletal dragon vanished.
Only the war chariot floated upon the water.
Kael blinked.
"…Where'd you go?"
He stood and peered around wildly.
"Hey! Stop hiding and get over here!"
The instant the words left his mouth, the skeletal war chariot shot across the lake toward him, skimming the surface fast enough to spray water everywhere.
It halted inches from his face.
Kael spluttered as lake water drenched him from head to toe.
"What in the—"
Then he saw it.
A tiny crimson shape hovered in the air before him.
A skeletal dragon no larger than a snake.
Its entire body glowed blood-red beneath the moonlight while miniature claws flexed angrily in the air.
Kael stared for one heartbeat.
Then he burst out laughing.
"You can do that?"
The tiny dragon snapped its jaws proudly.
"This solves everything!" Kael said happily. "Looks like we really are stuck together from now on, brother."
The little dragon floated before him silently.
"Come on then," Kael said. "Rest inside the satchel."
He opened the Wardian Satchel and welcomed both the skeletal dragon and the war chariot inside.
The dragon had shrunk, but even the full-sized chariot fit comfortably within the satchel's impossible storage space.
Just as Kael tied the satchel shut, a lazy amused voice sounded behind him.
"You really have no shame at all. That creature's probably older than entire kingdoms, and you're calling it brother."
Kael spun instantly.
Lyra stood nearby beneath the moonlight.
Relief flooded him.
"Shreve Lyra!"
He hurried toward her.
"You're awake. Are you better?"
"Not that quickly," she replied with a faint smile. "But I can circulate Vitae again. Once that starts, recovery accelerates."
Kael visibly relaxed.
"So how long until you're fully healed?"
"Three days. Five at most."
Her eyes drifted toward the clothes wrapped around her body.
"Where did these come from?"
Kael pointed toward the distant shoreline.
"There are abandoned fishing huts over there. I think everyone fled because of the skeleton attacks. I found these inside."
Lyra nodded softly.
The wind had grown stronger now. Reeds rustled endlessly in the darkness around them.
The cold deepened with every passing minute.
Kael rubbed his arms.
"This place is freezing. We should move into one of those huts and get out of the wind."
"Agreed."
---
They chose the largest hut among the abandoned homes.
Inside, Kael searched around until he found an old oil lamp with barely enough fuel left to burn. After several failed attempts he finally coaxed a weak flame to life.
Warm amber light filled the room.
Dust coated the bed and furniture. Kael immediately grabbed an old cloth and cleaned the sleeping platform before helping Lyra sit down.
Then he started searching through the hut again.
Lyra watched him with mild amusement.
"What are you doing now?"
"Looking for food."
Kael rummaged through cupboards and storage jars.
Then suddenly he froze.
"Oh, thank the gods."
At the bottom of a large clay container sat a small amount of coarse grain.
Nearby he discovered a basket of dried marsh mushrooms.
"Perfect!"
The mushrooms resembled thick brown drumsticks, a common food gathered from the reed marshes nearby.
Kael immediately got to work.
He cleaned the pot.
Washed the grain.
Started a fire.
Before long he was cooking porridge while stir-frying mushrooms over the crackling flame.
He moved with surprising skill.
Life at Vane's Summit had never been luxurious. Once Auryn and Sylva began spending more time away from the mountain on missions, many ordinary chores had fallen onto Kael, Mira, and Zaeli instead.
Selene, meanwhile, had usually contributed by wiping tables for ten minutes before declaring herself exhausted.
The memory almost made him smile.
The fisherman's hut was painfully poor. The cooking stove sat in the very same room as the bed.
Lyra remained seated quietly while watching Kael bustle around the room.
There was something strangely peaceful about it.
No schemes.
No bloodshed.
No politics.
Only the crackle of firelight and the scent of cooking grain.
At last the porridge finished.
The mushrooms were less successful.
Kael could not find oil anywhere, and several pieces had burned badly in the pan.
Still, he arranged everything carefully on the table before filling a bowl for Lyra.
"There's no oil. No salt either," he admitted apologetically. "It probably tastes terrible. But you need food in your stomach if you're going to recover properly."
"Mm."
Lyra stepped down from the bed and sat at the table.
Truthfully, someone of her attainment could ignore hunger entirely through controlled Vitae circulation. She had only intended to humor him by taking a few bites.
But once the hot porridge touched her tongue, surprise flickered across her face.
The grain itself was rough and cheap.
Yet somehow Kael had cooked it perfectly.
Warm.
Comforting.
Rich with an earthy sweetness.
The heat spread gently through her exhausted body, easing the chill that had settled into her bones.
Lyra took another slow sip.
Then another.
Before long she realized she was genuinely enjoying it.
Kael watched nervously from across the table.
"I had to make it thin," he said awkwardly. "There wasn't much grain left."
"Really?" Kael brightened at once. Relief spread plainly across his face, boyish and unguarded despite everything that had happened between them. "Honestly, Mira makes porridge way better than I do. She's picky about everything. Water, heat, when to stir it…" He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I only know this much because I watched her do it a hundred times. If you like it, Shreve Lyra, I can make it for you again later."
Lyra froze.
The spoon paused halfway to her lips.
For several heartbeats she simply stared at him across the wavering table light.
"What?" Kael asked uneasily. Her gaze made his chest tighten for reasons he could not explain.
"Nothing," she said softly.
She lowered her head and continued drinking.
Yet while the warm porridge slid down her throat, moisture quietly gathered at the corners of her eyes.
Kael did not notice.
He was too busy shoveling burnt marsh mushrooms into his own mouth by the handful, washing them down with bowl after bowl of thin grain porridge until his stomach finally stopped feeling hollow. When he finished, he leaned back with a long satisfied breath and rubbed his belly.
"Not full," he admitted, "but it feels a hell of a lot better than before."
The oil lamp beside them sputtered weakly.
The last of the oil was nearly gone now. The little flame danced and twitched in the glass housing as if a single gust might kill it entirely.
Kael stood.
"I'll find something to burn."
He disappeared into the darkness beyond the house.
A short while later he returned carrying an enormous armful of wood across his shoulders. Broken chair legs. Splintered table backs. Pieces of cabinets and shelving hacked apart with brute force.
Lyra looked once at the pile and immediately understood.
"You tore apart someone's furniture," she said with amusement.
Kael dropped the wood in the middle of the room and grinned sheepishly.
"Couldn't find firewood."
He arranged the broken timber into a rough cone, then flicked his fingers through a seal.
"The Flamebloom Art."
A lotus-shaped burst of crimson fire spun from his hand and struck the woodpile.
Flames roared upward instantly.
Heat flooded the abandoned house.
Kael sat back on his heels, a little embarrassed. "Didn't really have another option."
Lyra smiled faintly.
"Be careful the owners don't come back and curse you from behind the walls."
His expression dimmed slightly.
"With the skeleton invasion spreading this badly…" He stared into the fire. "I don't even know if anyone's coming back at all."
Then another thought struck him, and anxiety crept into his voice.
"I wonder how Mirekeep's holding up. Master… Auryn… the others…" His jaw tightened. "I hope they made it out."
Lyra watched the fire for a moment before answering.
"It should be over by now. You destroyed nearly every great skeletal horror in the invading host yourself. And your Sixth Elder-Uncle drove away the old skeleton fiend." She folded her hands loosely atop her knees. "There's a good chance Mirekeep survived this."
Kael let out a slow breath.
"When I escaped," he murmured, "the blood-clouds in the sky were already breaking apart."
The knot in his chest loosened a little.
Outside, the wind rolled endlessly across the wetlands. Waves crashed somewhere far off in the darkness, dull and heavy against the marsh banks.
Inside the ruined house, the fire crackled warmly.
They sat cross-legged before it in silence.
After an entire day of slaughter, flight, terror, and madness, the stillness felt almost unreal.
No screaming.
No collapsing walls.
No skeletal armies clawing through blood-soaked mud.
Only warmth.
Only breathing.
Only exhaustion slowly creeping into their bones.
"Kael…" Lyra said at last.
He turned his head toward her immediately. "Yeah?"
Her eyes reflected the firelight.
"Do you know where the Sevenfold Shroud came from?"
"A little." He nodded slowly. "Aldric Crucible mentioned some things before he died. Auryn told me a bit too."
Lyra stared into the flames.
"It's said the Sevenfold Shroud feeds on seven forms of evil emotion. Rage. Hatred. Cruelty. Bloodlust." Her voice remained calm, but there was gravity beneath it now. "It absorbs them and turns them into power for the wearer."
Kael instinctively touched his chest.
Even now something inside him felt wrong.
Not pain.
Not sickness.
Something alive.
Something hidden deep beneath his flesh, quietly fermenting in the dark.
Waiting.
"The artifact is monstrously powerful," Lyra continued. "But it is not a blessing. Every time you use it, it feeds on you in return. It twists your thoughts. Encourages violence. Encourages evil. It wants suffering because suffering strengthens it."
Kael's heartbeat suddenly stumbled.
His mind flashed uncontrollably back to the skeletal dragon chariot.
Lyra beneath him.
Her body trembling.
The desperate sounds she had made while the Shroud poisoned his mind and turned desire into something savage and monstrous.
Heat rushed into his face so violently he thought the fire itself might have struck him.
Thankfully Lyra did not look at him.
"Long ago," she said quietly, "the Demon Sovereign who created that thing became hated by every realm alike. Mortal. Fell. Empyrean. In the end, both form and spirit were destroyed."
Kael's chest jolted.
Auryn had once mentioned who slew the Demon Sovereign.
The Wandering Fox.
The realization sent another strange pulse through him.
He almost asked—
But Lyra lifted her eyes first.
"So," she said, watching him carefully, "can you promise me something?"
"What?"
"Don't use it lightly."
Her tone was gentle.
But absolute.
"Never wear it unless you truly have no other choice."
Kael answered instantly.
"Alright."
No hesitation.
No bargaining.
The speed of his agreement seemed to surprise even her.
Lyra reached into her storage pouch.
A moment later she withdrew the black mask with seven jagged horn-like ridges rising from its brow.
The Sevenfold Shroud.
Even resting quietly in her pale hands, it radiated something foul and magnetic.
She extended it toward him.
"Take it back."
Kael blinked.
"If it's really that dangerous…" He frowned. "Then maybe I shouldn't keep it at all."
"I considered not returning it," Lyra admitted. "Countless people would kill to possess a relic like this. Keeping it near you will attract disaster."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"But your heritage is already exposed now. Once word spreads…" She paused. "Your future will be full of danger regardless."
The fire cracked loudly between them.
"At least with this thing," she said softly, "you may survive long enough to face it."
Kael slowly reached out.
The instant his fingertips touched the mask—
A violent thrill surged through his entire body.
Pleasure.
Sharp and intoxicating.
Like ice water poured directly into his veins.
His pulse exploded.
His skin prickled.
Something deep inside him reacted to the Shroud with terrifying hunger.
Kael nearly jerked his hand away in shock.
Lyra noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
"N-Nothing."
He forced the words out too quickly.
For some reason, he did not dare tell her what he had felt.
Lyra studied him another moment before letting it pass.
"And this as well."
She reached into her pouch again.
This time she produced a small ivory fan.
Delicate. Exquisitely crafted.
Its surface shimmered strangely in the firelight, made from some pale material finer than silk yet softer than mist itself. Faint clouds drifted beneath the translucent layers of the fan like living vapor.
Kael's eyes widened immediately.
Even without touching it, he could tell it was precious.
"What's that?" he asked. "It's beautiful."
"It's called the Cloud-Shadow Fan."
Lyra held it carefully between slender fingers.
"I made it from Dream-Silkworm Silk. There's a storage restriction woven into it that allows it to preserve writing and images." A faint smile touched her lips. "You like construct-work, don't you? I recorded some of my own notes and methods inside. Techniques. Designs. Theories."
Then she placed it in his hands.
"You can study them yourself later."
Kael stared at the fan like a child handed a royal treasure.
"Seriously?"
Gratitude hit him so hard he almost did not know what to say.
He turned the fan over carefully.
Yet all he could see within the surface were drifting clouds and pale mist.
"Huh?" He frowned. "Why can't I read anything?"
"Because you don't know the unlocking method."
Lyra shifted closer beside him.
The faint scent of her body drifted through the warm room again, soft and maddeningly feminine beneath traces of medicine and lingering smoke.
She began teaching him the activation formula for the Cloud-Shadow Fan. The restriction patterns. The method for recording and retrieving information.
Kael listened with complete focus.
"And most importantly," Lyra said, "the Shape-Borrowing Art I taught you before is stored inside as well."
His expression sharpened instantly.
"That art can conceal your identity and distort your spiritual signature. Learn it as quickly as possible." Her gaze lowered slightly. "You'll need it for what's coming."
Kael's excitement faded.
Something in her tone made his chest sink.
"Shreve…" he said slowly. "You're not going to teach me anymore?"
Lyra was silent for a moment.
Then she answered quietly.
"I can only stay with you another two or three days at most. Once my strength recovers enough, I'll send you somewhere safe to hide."
Her eyes remained fixed on the fire.
"After that… your cultivation will depend on yourself."
The words struck him harder than he expected.
An ugly hollow feeling opened inside his chest.
For a long while he said nothing.
Then suddenly:
"Shreve Lyra… tell me about the Wandering Fox."
Her eyes flicked toward him.
Kael swallowed.
"I heard the Empyrean Throne destroyed him. Is it true?"
Lyra's expression became unreadable.
"That is not something you need to know right now."
"I do need to know."
"You need to survive," she corrected sharply. "Leave this place. Hide yourself. Live peacefully if you can."
"No." Stubbornness flared in him at once. "Tell me."
Her face hardened immediately.
"You're refusing to listen to me?"
The shift in pressure was instant.
Lyra was beautiful beyond reason, but when she became stern there was something terrifying beneath it—something that made instinct itself want to bow its head.
Kael lowered his gaze at once.
"…Sorry."
At some point, without realizing when it had happened, he had begun fearing disappointing her more than he feared her anger.
"We cannot remain here long," Lyra said coldly. "Your Sixth Elder-Uncle's tracking arts are extremely dangerous. He could find this place at any moment."
Then her tone softened slightly again.
"So stop wasting time."
She gestured toward the fire.
"I'll explain the hardest and most important parts of the Shape-Borrowing Art now. Listen carefully. Memorize everything."
Kael nodded obediently.
"Yes, Shreve."
And so Lyra began teaching.
Slowly.
Patiently.
The mysteries of the Shape-Borrowing Art unfolded one layer at a time beneath the firelight.
At first Kael's thoughts still wandered restlessly.
But the deeper Lyra explained, the more stunned he became.
The art was unlike any cultivation method he had ever encountered.
Its principles contradicted almost every foundational doctrine taught within the Runeward Chapter. Even the flow of Aether through the body followed reversed and distorted pathways impossible under normal Five-Force teachings.
Yet somehow it worked.
Not only worked—
It opened entirely new ways of understanding existence itself.
Identity.
Perception.
Spirit.
Form.
Kael felt as though a hidden door had suddenly opened inside his mind.
The world itself no longer looked the same.
He became utterly absorbed.
Lyra mistook his silence for confusion.
"This art is extremely unusual," she warned. "Its concepts are difficult even for veteran adepts. If you don't fully understand yet, that's normal. Just remember the critical points for now."
Kael shook his head immediately.
"No, I—"
He stopped himself, trying to organize the chaos in his thoughts.
"Shreve… why is this technique so different from everything else in the Covenant? Even the way it uses Aether goes against the core circulation laws."
Lyra fell silent.
After several moments she finally answered:
"Because the Shape-Borrowing Art does not belong to the Covenant."
Kael blinked.
"What?"
His curiosity exploded instantly.
"Then where did it come from?"
Lyra did not answer.
She stared quietly into the flames instead.
The firelight painted faint color across her pale cheeks.
Kael suddenly noticed the delicate flush there and became even more curious.
At last she said softly:
"You do not need to know."
Then she looked back at him.
"Keep listening. And ask now if there's anything you don't understand."
So Kael began questioning her continuously.
Not random questions.
Not foolish ones.
Almost every question struck directly at the foundation of the art itself or the hidden principles behind it.
The deeper he asked, the more surprised Lyra became.
She answered each point carefully, but inwardly she could hardly believe it.
His instincts were frightening.
He seemed able to grasp the core truth beneath techniques almost naturally.
Several times she found herself simply staring at him in silence after he spoke.
Something soft and unreadable gradually filled her eyes.
Time slipped past unnoticed.
By the time either of them realized it, most of the night was gone.
Then suddenly—
Lyra's breathing faltered.
A sharp tremor passed through her body.
Her eyes squeezed shut as she inhaled raggedly through clenched teeth.
Kael jumped up immediately.
"Shreve!"
He rushed to her side and caught her shoulders.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing…" she whispered.
But exhaustion had become obvious now.
Her face was pale.
The wounds she had suffered during the battle—and afterward—had drained her far more deeply than she admitted.
Kael's chest tightened painfully at the sight.
"You're injured," he said firmly. "Enough for tonight. Rest first."
Lyra looked as though she wanted to continue.
But after a moment she finally nodded.
"…Very well."
Kael carefully helped her back onto the bed.
Even weakened, she still moved with unconscious grace, silver hair sliding across her shoulders as she settled into a cross-legged position atop the blankets.
She resumed circulating Vitae immediately to heal herself.
Kael quietly added more broken wood to the fire and stirred the flames until the room warmed again.
Only after making certain she was comfortable did he rise.
"I'll sleep in the other room," he said softly.
Lyra gave a faint nod without opening her eyes.
Kael gently closed the door behind him.
That night, sleep came fitfully.
Dreams crashed through his mind one after another without end.
The seven-horned mask.
Lyra's impossibly beautiful face flushed beneath him.
The skeletal dragon roaring across oceans of blood-red cloud.
Sometimes the dreams became terrifying beyond reason. Rage. Violence. Madness tearing through him like wildfire.
Other times they turned feverishly sweet.
Soft skin.
Hot breath.
The memory of Lyra's body wrapped around him inside the war chariot while the world burned outside.
Pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.
The dreams twisted together endlessly until he could no longer tell where fear ended and desire began.